To Master His Emotions
by Manuel the Wonder Llama
Summary: This is a journey into Carlisle Cullen before he left Europe for America.


**A/N: This is my first fic of any kind, and it should be noted that I have _never _read Twilight. I did this in exchange for contributions for Haiti's earthquake relief. I could not have done this without special help from Wuogkat, who assisted in research, and my two wonderful betas, Betham and Criosa.**

* * *

"We need you!" Shouted Dr. Kirkje.

"No, you can do this… these students are well trained. They can assist." Responded Misha Moiseev.

"We don't have time for this! The bodies are stacking up and we cannot get to them fast enough."

Misha had hoped to avoid this kind of situation. Although he had been very well trained in medicine, he had surprisingly little practical application of his craft. Instead of practicing medicine, Misha used his 200 years of medical research specifically for the purpose of training new doctors.

"I've never actually performed surgery, you know."

"It doesn't matter! Your knowledge is unsurpassed, and no experience is better than no doctor." It seemed that Kirkje had an answer for everything.

Yes, Misha had studied the human body for two centuries. His unnaturally long study was based upon his unnatural condition, for he was actually a vampire. Misha had not been in Helsinki very long. In fact, he had just come from southern Germany, although his story was that he came from Novgorod, Russia. That's why he selected a Russian name. In his time he had come to know many lands and peoples. Misha had been a friend of his some fifty or sixty years prior.

Kirkje, the chief of the teaching hospital, had no patience for Moiseev's indecision.

"I expect to see you in there with us." He turned to head back into a room for another surgery. "Who's next?" he mumbled to a nurse as he went through a door into the makeshift operating room.

Now Misha had to make a choice. It was the great paradox of his morbid interest with the human body. Vampires had a natural thirst for human blood, but only living blood. In spite of his love of knowledge, Misha could never bring himself to work on cadavers. The smell of dead blood was as physically revolting to him as rotten food is to a mortal. For this reason, his vast knowledge was gained through texts, lectures, and conversations. This is precisely why he was such an effective teacher. He was also fortunate to find this teaching hospital in Finland that would give him the opportunity to teach without practicing.

However, everything changed earlier that year. In early 1905, anti-tsar revolts started popping up all over Russia. They reached their height in early February, but tapered off. Now it was November, and Misha didn't think that anything would have extended beyond Russia. Unfortunately, he was sorely mistaken. The general strike had only begun a few days before on October 30, and the leader of the Red Guard was a man named Johann Kock; Misha could not have imagined a more appropriate name. The tension had advanced well beyond rhetoric, and terrorist acts had been popping up all over Finland, but mostly in Helsinki and Tampere.

Yet there he stood, staring blankly at the door. Kirkje had just disappeared behind it, and was most likely already elbow deep in someone's body. He heard the buzz and bustle of activity. Doctors and nurses were speaking only when necessary in their non-stop effort to save lives.

Wasn't that what he really wanted to do? Misha hated the harm and damage that people could do to each other, but it was more than that. He could not tolerate senseless and unjustified death and destruction. That was the very reason he had left the Volturi. Misha did not agree with their methods, just as much as he detested the senseless violence of the Red Guard there in Helsinki.

"Where do you need me, Kirke?" Moiseev asked as he walked through the door.

The administrator of the hospital barely glanced up. He was used to his orders being followed and thought no more of Moiseev's entrance to the operating room than if he'd asked him to tutor a student.

"There's a table over there," he said pointing a blood-soaked finger towards the far side of the room. "Anna, go assist Moiseev." His hands were back inside a young man, barely old enough to be called a man. "Misha, if you need any help, there are plenty of students roaming the halls waiting to do more than you have so far."

This level of contempt was unusual for Kirkje, and if Misha had been a normal human, it would have bothered him. However, he thought little of such behavior after his years with Aro.

Still, there was work to be done.

"Anna, we've got a table, I've got tools, but I don't have a patient." Anna half bowed and scurried out another door that he knew led into the main hallway. He was more nervous than he should have been, but was eager to get started.

"Next!" Anna shouted down the hall, where students and nurses were performing triage. She stayed to hold the door as two young men carried another badly wounded young man into the room. If he had been paying attention, Misha would have noticed that the buzz he had heard earlier was actually coming from the hallway.

Instead, he was focused on the teenaged boy being brought to his table.

"Why are they all so young?" Misha asked to no one in particular.

"Damn, guard hit a school today," said one doctor.

"It wasn't the guard, but some of those damn bombers," blurted another.

"Can someone clean up some of this mess over here?" said yet another doctor.

The last statement was the most macabre, but Misha hadn't been listening anyway. His eyes were on the boy being brought to him. He wondered many different things: what was his name? What had he been studying in school? Did he even care about the political fight that inspired this disgusting attack?

"Alright Anna, let's do this! What do you see?"

Anna stammered, not quite sure what to say. "Um… severe wound in his chest, with multiple lacerations on his arms, legs, and face."

"This isn't a damn class, Moiseev."

The tone in Kirkje's voice was unmistakable, even in Misha's state of mind.

"Scalpel." Misha sighed.

Obediently, Anna procured the correct instrument for him. As he wrapped his fingers around the slender tool, he was amazed how easily he seemed to focus on the task at hand. Anna was right. This boy had a severe wound on his chest, and with very little effort, it was clear that there was some piece of shrapnel that was inside him. He placed the tool on the boy's chest and made the first incision.

Each of his two hundred years of medical study proved to be more than beneficial. Although this was his first surgery, his skill and knowledge of anatomy proved to be an asset beyond measure. The incisions were precise and never more than absolutely necessary in order to complete the needed procedure. Each foreign body was carefully removed from the young man. His sutures were flawless, and in the end, Misha had completed his task in half the time of any other doctor in the room. He was even faster than Kuusi, a highly skilled surgeon from Kemi, a small town in the North barely older than the doctor himself.

"Phew…" Misha exhaled as he completed his final sutures. "Get me another." He said and stepped back from the table.

He had done it.

His first surgery, and it was nothing as he had expected. As he waited for another patient, he thought about what he had just done. The patient was alive! Cadavers rot, but not this young boy. He was alive. Misha could smell it in his blood. The blood was alive.

And it was when that thought entered his mind that something changed. _The blood was alive, and it was all over his hands!_ He suddenly smelled it like he hadn't before. It was fresh and alive and right there.

"I need to wash my hands, I'll be right back." There. That was an easy excuse. Of course he needed to wash his hands, but he really needed to _clean_ his hands. He looked at the other three doctors in the room as he worked his way over to the sink.

"Don't work too fast or you'll get sloppy," warned Kirkje.

"Don't work too fast or Kuusi will think you are after his job," said the other surgeon, who Misha didn't really know.

He couldn't respond. He was thinking about the blood, and needed to get it off of his hands.

"_Focus," he thought to himself. _

"That boy was obviously near the center of the blast. With that much shrapnel, he had to be." Misha announced rhetorically.

"Don't think about it. We're not here to play politics or police," Kuusi was advising, "just clean them up and get to the next one."

By the time he had returned, there was another patient. Anna was as good at her job as he was at his. This time it was an older man; obviously he was an instructor. His wounds were not quite as bad, but still very serious. Just as before, Misha had managed to diagnose the problems nearly instantaneously and went to work.

However, this time, something was different. He wasn't just helping this man. He was smelling the blood and feeling the flesh. It was a new sensation that was a little intoxicating, but he couldn't allow that to enter his mind. He had to focus. He did, and once again, he had managed to complete his work in minimal time.

"Okay, who's next?" Misha said announcing his completion. Anna, without hesitation found some medical students to remove the patient and was already lining up the next patient. Misha, on the other hand was on his way to wash the blood off of his hands. He realized that when the patient was not in front of him, he could not help but focus on the smell of blood. This was a new and exciting sensation for him, albeit frightening as well.

The other doctors in the room were oblivious to the internal struggle that Moiseev was facing at that moment. Instead they were amazed at how quickly he had managed to get through these first two surgeries. As he returned to Anna and his table, there was another body there already.

Body!?! No… it's a patient not a body. No… SHE, not it, is a patient not a body!

He could see that she was in critical condition, but certainly not as severe as the first two. Kirkje had completed his one patient and had decided to take a break to watch… no… observe Moiseev's work. He stood a few steps away and watched the rookie surgeon dive in like a thirsty man guzzles water. The old pro was impressed. He saw first hand that this procedure and performance were flawless. He motioned for another patient of his own, but went the long way around the room.

"Kuusi, take a minute and watch the Russian," he whispered as he passed. Even the highly talented Kuusi was impressed with the ability of this man who had never done more than study medicine from books.

Meanwhile, Misha was not even thinking about his technique. His sole concern was to focus on the medical practice, not the anatomy and physiology of what he was doing. His hands were in her body up to the wrists. He could smell the blood. It was alive. It was likely tasty as well.

No! Change the subject.

"Anna, what do you think her name is?"

The other doctors were amazed at the question.

"Ummmmm," she hesitated.

"Tell me about her," Misha tried again. "What do you think she liked?"

This break in OR protocol shocked the other surgeons. Anna was dumbfounded. Misha just wanted to have something on his mind other than this blood. The color. The smell. The tantalizing texture of her body. He wanted a story, and didn't care what it was.

"I don't know," Anna finally answered.

"Do better than that." Misha ordered. "How about this; Her name is Olga, she likes playing in the snow, and can't wait for it to stick. Perhaps because she prefers skiing to walking. She fancies a boy named Karl. Stuff like that."

Misha didn't care what the other doctors thought. This was nothing more than crisis management for him. His only method for getting through this was to think of these bodies as people. The stories helped, but his example didn't leave much time. He was finishing up with "Olga" and was nearly ready for another.

"When I get back I want another body, and you need to have his background," he ordered as he went to clean up.

The other surgeons were making snide comments about this, but he didn't notice. Even if he had noticed, he would not have cared. He scrubbed his hands down and returned to the table.

"His name is Johannes, and he's new in Helsinki…."

Misha was hearing what she was saying, but he was not listening. He saw the body and a deep lust from within couldn't wait to smell this one. He stepped up to the table and took a deep breath. Then, all of a sudden, he turned and began dry heaving uncontrollably at the rotten smell.

"This body is dead! Get it out of here."

"He's not dead," retorted one of the nurses who carried the body in. "He was breathing outside."

The smell was clear. This blood was dead.

"Moiseev, can you see it? He's still breathing," Kuuri said, "it's shallow, but he's breathing. Just do it."

"You do it then. I say he's dead."

Dead blood.

Dying blood.

It didn't matter. This was not something that he could control. He knew this body was dead long before he hit the operating room.

"Anna, I want a new body and a new story."

She jumped to obey, but didn't make it ten feet before…

"We don't have time for this Moiseev," reprimanded Kirkje. "Get to work!"

"Not on him. He's dead," blurted Misha.

"Swap with me," Kuuri said urgently, "let me show you how it's done."

Without skipping a beat Kuuri went for the sink and left his patient for Misha. He looked at Anna and beckoned her to join him at the new table. She followed as ordered and they went to work immediately. Anna was amazed at the unspoken bond between the two of them. He didn't need to talk to her and she knew what he needed and what he wanted. They were one in the operating room. Anna also knew that this was not a connection that would end at the door.

Misha, on the other hand was concerned about only one thing. This body. The blood was fresh and alive. This was a horrible temptation for him, but he loved it. These feelings and sensations were a power the likes of which he had never felt in his more than two centuries. He could not believe that this was him. He had never desired human blood. He had always been a vegetarian, but here he was…

"No!" Kuuri shouted. "No, no, no!" Misha snapped to for a moment.

"How did you know that he was going to die, Moiseev?"

"I just knew." Those were the last words that Misha Moiseev spoke in that operating room. From then on, he was enjoying the aroma of that room. For the next ninety minutes he continued to patch up bodies, while reveling in the flesh that he had for so long detested. There was something different and tantalizing about these bodies. They were not dead, but they were not whole. He could never bring himself to harm a human, but these were people who had been harmed already, who were clinging to life. Misha had found an entirely new niche that he had never expected. He felt like a school boy who caught a glimpse of a woman bathing in a river. He knew it was wrong. He felt like he needed to confess and repent for these desires and emotions. Yet there was nothing he could do; nothing but make them whole.

As soon as the load lightened, he washed his hands and left.

* * *

He stood outside the hospital, taking in the fresh air. It was clean. It lacked everything that had been taunting him inside.

"You were amazing in there, Dr. Moiseev."

Misha turned to see Anna at his side.

"Um.. th th thank you," he stammered. He had not been prepared for company.

"Doctor," Anna started. There was a slight hesitation in her voice. His heightened senses heard her swallow. It would have been imperceptible to any human, but he heard it. "Doctor, you were truly amazing. I saw how you worked in there, and I saw how… _we _worked in there."

Misha turned to look at her. She looked up at him. Her blonde hair seemed to shine in spite of the lack of light. The early sunsets and late sunrises were precisely why he liked northern Europe in the fall and winter. Yet in the darkness, her natural beauty shone on its own.

"I don't know how to say this, Doctor, so please just let me say it. I think that our connection in there," she pointed her head toward the hospital doors behind them, "is just as strong out here."

Where was she going with this? Had he been mortal and cared for the traditional desires of the flesh, he would have known exactly what she was asking. However, his carnal desires involved flesh in a different manner than she was offering.

"Will you walk me home, Dr. Moiseev?"

"Misha, please."

"Okay Misha, and please call me Annika."

He did not know what came over him. He had no interest in walking her home, but he had nothing better to do that night. He was glad to be out of the operating room, but a part of him longed to go back. Their walk was quiet. He was thinking about these forbidden emotions that betrayed his demeanor and personality. She was pondering their unspoken bond. Before either of them realized it, they were at her family's small home in a poorer section of the city.

"My parents won't be home now," Anna said as she guided him inside by the hand. It was not a matter of force. Even a human male could have resisted her drag, but there was something pulling him. No. It wasn't pulling. Something was pushing him. It was something from within himself.

It was that same sensation he felt earlier. He was now that little boy who caught a glimpse of a woman bathing, but instead of turning away, he stayed and watched. His following her into her bedroom was his way of pursuing this personal moral taboo. He was not interested in sex so much as he was wanted to explore these emotions.

Once inside her room, she leaned into him.

"I was really impressed with you in surgery. I had never seen you so forceful."

Misha stood there not knowing what to do or say.

"I also really loved it when you ordered me…" she hesitated. "But even more than that, I loved that we could work closely without words."

Misha had no clue what to say.

She raised herself onto her toes so that she could kiss him. He accepted her kiss and returned it with an even deeper one. As they kissed, she committed herself to him, and he was longing to explore. His kisses left her mouth and worked across her face to her earlobe. His soft kiss turned into a slight suck and a gentle nibble.

Anna did not seem to notice that his body was so much colder than hers. She had noticed it at first, when she took his hand to bring him inside, but she logically assumed that it was a result of the Finnish November night. After that kiss, her body was warm enough for both of them.

He worked his way down to her neck. The primal vampiric urges swelled up from deep within him. He could see and sense her artery, right there just below the skin. He taunted himself ever so slightly as he rubbed his lips and then his teeth right over that part of her neck.

She did not mean to, but Anna let out a moan of pure pleasure. She had wanted him before, but she needed him now.

He knew that he could not stay on her neck. That temptation may overpower him. Misha drew away from her neck and progressed slowly down her body. His mouth and hands took turns touching and caressing various parts of her body. As one hand touched her breast, she released another moan, but it was far more than a moan as he lightly pinched her nipple. A wave of sweet agony coursed through her body.

As she enjoyed the physical sensations, he shared every bit of the delight in making her completely flushed. These things he did to her drew her blood ever closer to the surface of her skin. It was an anticipation that led him to imagine what she tasted like. But even with all of this temptation he knew that he could not, would not take her blood.

There was only one other way of tasting her. He pushed her toward the bed and then shoved her onto it. This was the force that he showed in the hospital tonight that she enjoyed so much. She loved it even more now that it was in her bedroom. With Anna on her back, legs still over the bed and feet on the floor, Misha wasted no time in tossing the skirt of her dress up and out of his way and her undergarments were removed with the same speed and ferocity.

Misha was so excited that his senses heightened to a point he had not known. He could smell her every scent. As he drew closer to her, she was so flushed that he could smell the blood in her labia over the scent of her womanly wetness.

He came closer, his face touched the inside of her thighs, and she opened herself up even more for him. He could tell her every physical reaction, he listened for it, and loved being able to know her body better than she did.

Then it happened all at once. As his tongue touched her lips, she lost control. Her body let blood rush to her lips to make them as sensitive as possible to his every move. Yet it was this that made him change. He could smell the blood, teasing him through these few layers of skin, but it was when he heard the increased pulsing of blood rushing through her thigh that sent him over the edge. Felt the venom pool in his mouth as he pulled back to come in for the perfect strike at her femoral artery.

And all at once, he came to his senses. It was as though her were looking at himself from outside. He knew what he was doing was wrong and immoral. He was disgusted. No vampire had ever been with a human, but all he was doing was tempting fate. He was exploring sensations that he had never felt before, but simply knew they were wrong. He didn't know why, but he knew they were wrong. He leapt from his knees, flew to the door, and left her in her moment of weakness.

Poor Anna was confused. She had never been vulnerable in her life, but neither had he.

* * *

He stood there, more livid than he had been in years, which was significant in his lifetime. Yet to be honest, he did not know what made him angrier. It was either what he had just done, or the fact that he was staring down his three hundredth birthday within the next twenty years and still had not mastered his emotions. Either way, there was no way to undo the things that had happened.

He had walked aimlessly for at least an hour, but had stopped in front of a building. He did not know why at first.

He was thinking about her.

But it wasn't her that made him stop.

He was thinking of what he had just done.

But it wasn't nearly taking her life that made him stop.

It was the music.

He hadn't noticed it, but it was there. Calm. Soothing. Lifting his soul.

There was an open window above him. Coming through that window were the sweetly sorrowful tones of Lacrimosa Mozart's "Requiem" being played on a piano. The music expressed just what he felt. He had heard the song many times in the past, but it was not until now that he finally understood the song. There was a longing in it that expressed his current state.

He realized that his abilities as a doctor were to bring life, not to take it. He had the senses and abilities to know what no human ever could about the condition of a body.

He had been to the edge, and backed away.

He must find away to master his emotions. He must control them or they would control him. He would never again be in a situation to take a human. Life was the one thing he truly loved and cherished. Even the mortal ones.

So, once again, he had to run. He had done it before, and every time he created a new name for himself and a new persona.

Misha Moiseev had just been Hans Schweigofer.

And Philip Benneton before that.

Or Pierre Cantona.

Many names and many places.

He was going to the docks to get on the first ship that left. As he headed to the South Docks, he passed the massive white structure that is the Helsinki Cathedral. He may have run in the past, but he has always had one thing. As much as he needed to leave, and leave now, there was one thing for which he had to return to his home to take with him. He did not bother with a key, but broke through the door, and grabbed his one treasure: an old cross. With that in tow, he sped back toward the south docks.

"I have to get aboard!" he said to the man about to remove the ship's boardwalk.

"Don't you even care where it's going?"

"Not at all, as long as it is leaving now."

"Hell, we can always use a free hand on these long trips." With that the sailor welcomed him aboard and asked, "You got a name?"

He had been in this very position before. Of course he never seemed to run before he was with the Volturi. Since he left, it happened every now and then. Was that fear why he kept reinventing himself? He determined right then that he would run no more. He would return to the name that he cherished before joining the Volturi; before he was Stregone Benefice.

"Carlisle. Carlisle Cullen."

"Welcome aboard, Cullen. Next stop is some place in America called New York."


End file.
